Not Quite Lost
by Hedge Writer
Summary: Sometimes heroes end their journey and feel fulfilled. They then move on to live happy, quiet lives, before their inevitable passing - their deeds remaining only in legend. Harry Potter only felt bored of it all, and wasn't all that fond of legends. Worlds away, a proven hero was exactly what someone was looking for. Rated M for explicit violence, swearing and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **I'm Going To Be Late For That Date**

 _"Think…"_

 _"…Bluh?"_

 _"Feel…"_

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _"Hear…"_

 _"… I am?"_

* * *

 _The Leaky Cauldron, 7th of July, 1999_

The clacking of teeth smashing against each other could be mistaken for the wing beat of the world's loudest hummingbird with how fast it echoed around the mostly-empty room.

Its lone occupant rose from the bed in the corner – one of the only three pieces of furniture filling the unnecessarily-large room – in a tangle of bed sheets and dislike for mornings.

He was all messy black hair, green eyes and disgruntled morning face. The young man reached one hand to the nightstand, wildly groping for his favorite object in the world.

"Bloody bollocks on a-"

And failing.

Harry Potter jumped out of bed holding his bitten fingers, all the while glaring at the chattery teeth the Leaky Cauldron's landlord had delivered at his request for an alarm clock a few weeks ago.

 _"And he has barrels filled with these things."_

He checked his abused finger tips to the light of the morning sun – every room in every part of the Leaky Cauldron had a window facing to the same side, so that the morning sun would always greet the people who stayed at the Inn.

 _"No broken nails this time."_

He reached for his wand – sitting dangerously close to the murderous denture – and used it to blast said biter into the wall. Teeth embedded themselves with no recognizable pattern into the wood, leaving behind new holes to be patched up sometime in the next couple of centuries. Harry counted about three thousand tooth-shaped indents during a bored afternoon.

 _"At least turning them off is always satisfying."_

He didn't stay to watch the teeth pull themselves out of the wall and back into the too-realistic gums that made up the alarm clock – that got boring after the first nine times – and moved to his dresser to pull out one of only two outfits he'd been wearing since he moved into the Cauldron.

 _"I should mix them together someday."_

He went for the gray open hoodie, white shirt and black pants. The other outfit sitting in the dresser was just a black robe matched with a pointed hat with a brim wide enough to double as an umbrella. He only wore the latter to more-or-less formal settings, or whenever he was forced to. He'd never really taken to wearing robes outside of his old Hogwarts uniform after graduating from said school.

He turned to the rest of the room. The teeth were already resting, content as they like, on the nightstand. He looked around, eyes inquisitive and searching.

 _"… My shoes are hiding again."_

His sneakers had been doing this on-and-off ever since he walked into a pool made almost entirely of a few other wizards. The rest of the pool was hippogriff piss, something that said wizards, once put back together, were quite disgruntled about.

He looked under his bed – no, no luck this time. The reason his room was bare was precisely so his shoes had less places to hide in. He stopped during his third turn in front of the window.

 _"Amateur mistake. Left the window open."_

He poked his head out the window. It was a very gray morning, par for the course in London, but still a bit brighter than usual. He ignored the sound of the morning train – the same train every morning, at this time, going who knows where – a noise he had grown so used to that it no longer woke him up. Hence the biting-clock.

Looking down, he could see the people milling about in the Diagon Alley, wearing colorful robes for the most part, and as part of the most recent trend, feathers of one or another magical creature on their should, backs and hats. All too scratchy for his taste.

 _"None of them are wearing my shoes."_

He blinked the foggy morning-thought away and turned around, resting his back against the window sill and looking up. There, under another window, was a floating bush of what appeared to be sunflowers. It was worth noticing, not because of the fact that sunflowers don't grow in bushes like that, or because bushes have a tendency to not float, but because he could swear that it was a rose bush the day before.

 _"There you are."_

Dangling from a particularly sunset-looking flower, hanging by their shoelaces, were his sneakers. Harry took his socks off.

 _"'Don't ruin my flowers' Ms. Flyt said. 'No casting around them, it disarms the finish.'"_

He jumped onto the window sill, and then jumped again to grab hold of the top, pulling himself up and standing on top of his own window. The wind messed up his hair in the opposite direction it had been when he woke up. He let out a sigh.

 _"What the hell does that mean?"_

He turned his neck up; his shoes were just outside of his reach. He could reach them if he jumped, but the wooden frame he was standing on was already creaking loudly enough to want him to get off with as little protest as he could manage from the abused wood.

He pulled out his wand.

 _"No magic – and the stick is still dead-useful."_

Using his favorite piece of wood in the world to reach his favorite – and only – pair of sneaky sneakers in the world, Harry sat down, deciding that the frame wasn't whining loudly enough to warrant a decisive escape. He used his wand to summon his socks up to where he sat. Once those were on, along with his shoes, he decided to do a quick mental checklist of what he had planned for today.

 _"Absolutely nothing. Check."_

He sighed. Eyeing the bustling crowds below him, waving half-heartedly at the pretty lady hanging some manner of leopard skin on her window to dry on the building across from his impromptu chair, she waved back with a smile. Harry couldn't find it in him to get excited about that. Life had been completely uneventful ever since he decided that working anywhere near an office would simply be too suffocating.

 _"Maybe if I had known freedom would be this boring,"_ He mused, _"I would have taken that auror position."_

He shook his head at that thought. No, he had tasted freedom briefly between the war ended and the time he was offered a job he didn't even have proper qualifications for. And it was the sweetest thing he had ever experienced, and he was completely hooked on it now.

 _"And yet…"_

He sighed again, and quickly resolved to stop doing that. He had promised himself, while looking at the most sarcastic magical mirror in the world, that he would not whine about anything his own choices had brought about.

The mirror then whined about his choice of hoodie. Harry no longer has a mirror in his room.

Deciding it was time for breakfast, Harry swung down into his room.

* * *

The mornings were the Leaky Cauldron's loudest time of the day, as Inn-goers, both permanent and otherwise, were all entitled to, and partook on, breakfast before they left on their own business.

A young woman, dressed in brown robes and bushy hair held in an equally-bushy-yet-charming ponytail scanned the morning crowd with brown eyes. She had an air of anxiety about her, and the loud inn-stayers didn't help her state at all. Over at one corner she spotted a man in a gray hoodie enjoying a bowl of what could only pass for cereal in a place like the Cauldron. She still wasn't used to the sight of him like that, and only recognized him for his attire, which hadn't changed in what felt like a year.

 _"He could use some more clothes."_

She walked to his table, shaking her head.

"Honestly, you looked better with glasses."

Harry looked up from his half-empty bowl, "I was easier to find, you mean," He motioned with his spoon at the chair on the opposite side of the table, "And good morning to you too, Hermione."

Hermione smiled as she took the offered seat.

Harry ate his cereal quietly, waiting for his not-all-that-unexpected visitor to open the conversation. A few minutes passed, and he was almost done with his cereal when he looked up at Hermione in wonder. She seemed to be staring _past_ him, not really focused on anything. He snapped his fingers, and she reacted, blinking her eyes in bewilderment.

"Oh- I… Sorry, just thinking." She let out, not quite in the same room just yet.

"… Right." Harry drawled. He pushed his bowl aside and stared at her in quiet contemplation. Now that he actually looked at her, he noticed that she had bags under her eyes, which wasn't all that unusual, given her belief that beds are made for reading, but they were somewhat red and puffy.

He snapped his fingers, much louder this time, startling Hermione back from wherever her mind was at, "You had that interview! That thing with the…" He trailed off, the words escaping him.

"With the Department of Magical Education." Hermione supplied.

"Right! That thing, Education. Hate those tossers, letting the Toad into a school and all that."

Hermione laughed, but it was a sad thing and Harry suddenly caught the signs.

"… It didn't go well, I'm guessing."

She looked at him for a moment, as if trying to think up the words, but as they failed to come out, she merely nodded.

Harry muttered something nasty under his breath, and signaled Tom to bring them both something to drink. Tom would know to bring her something warm and sweet. It was quite possibly the most wonderful piece of magic ever worked in the Leaky Cauldron – how the proprietary always knew when a customer needed something that they wouldn't order themselves.

"What happened?" He asked.

Hermione's gaze gained a little bit of steel to it, "They asked me what I thought about my education at Hogwarts," She paused with a meaningful look, and Harry motioned for her to continue, "I was very honest, Harry."

He grimaced, "Guess they didn't like the gritty details?"

"It's not that they- Harry, they knew everything. Of course they knew everything. Perhaps not back then, but they certainly do now," Her eyes turned down, "But they didn't like that I knew, or that I was so willing to talk about it. They're trying to forget – and make sure everyone else does, too."

Harry looked at her with a frown, "Forget what, exactly?"

Hermione looked at him like he'd grown a garden gnome out of his hoodie, "Everything! The fraud teachers, the horrible standards for Muggle Studies, Divination, the near-deaths, the actual deaths, the fact that they let Dumbledore run everything despite so much of it falling under Department jurisdiction."

Harry understood, "Ah, and you weren't willing to drop it, I wager."

"Of course not!" And she was on fire once more, "How could I? If we let everyone forget, it could happen again! Or- or maybe something worse!"

He put his hands up, "I get it, I get it," He raised an eyebrow in amusement, "But still, I thought you were subtler than that."

Now Hermione looked like someone slapped her, "… _You_ , telling _me_ , to be subtle?" She shook her head in amazement, "I must have hit something below bedrock."

Harry shrugged; he knew what she was getting at. His escape from everything holding him down involved a shouting Weasley girl, a brawl with two of her older siblings, and flipping off Shacklebolt on his way out of Hermione's home. Ron still laughed whenever he remembered it. Hermione's parents wrote sometimes, and they never failed to ask him to come over for dinner sometime.

At least that's what he thought she was talking about.

"So, any other prospects?"

Hermione sighed again, looking up to see Tom arrive at their table, with a mug of hot cocoa for her and what appeared to be a strawberry milkshake for Harry.

"Tom has milkshakes now?"

"Hah!" Harry laughed, "The Leaky Cauldron has been selling milkshakes since the seventeenth century. Or at least that's how old Tom swears the recipe is."

It was Hermione's turn to shrug, "It wouldn't surprise me."

"What does, these days?"

"You, for one." Hermione answered.

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Harry rose an eyebrow, and Hermione took a sip of her cocoa, "You left your old life behind, all your prospects, your girlfriend, and your home just to 'chase freedom'," she gestured in a sweeping motion at the pub around them, "And here you are, imprisoned by your own boredom."

Harry leant back in his chair with an exasperated look, "Well, Dark Lords are in short supply these days. Trust me, I looked. Know everyone in Knockturn Alley by name now. There's another witch named Hermione there, you know."

Hermione laughed, even though she knew he was avoiding the issue, "I didn't know there were other parents as cruel as mine."

"Well I don't know about that. Hermione's a good, long name. Long names are great; you can shorten them in many ways. Mione, Hermy, Hione, and the like. Can't do much with Harry," He frowned in contemplation, "I _think_ the witch was named Hermione. Not too clear on that whole afternoon. You can only enter _Blue Beverages And Maybe Red Ones_ after you let the bouncer hit you over the head with a Snargaluff stick. Didn't ask why," He finished with a shrug.

Hermione laughed again, much louder this time, "You have way too much time to yourself these days. These are things you've been thinking about for a while."

Harry smiled, and finished his milkshake, "You didn't answer my question."

"Oh," Hermione nodded, "I had another interview planned for today – with Gringotts. For a position as Curse Breaker. Bill helped set it up."

"Curse Breaker. You. What?" Harry shook his head, "Hermione Granger, taking a dangerous position, and me rotting in this broom graveyard?" He ignored Tom's 'Hey!' from a table over, "What happened to the world after I went to bed last night?"

Hermione smiled wickedly, something he'd seen enough times to know she meant business, "Maybe I need some danger in my life, too. Seven years' worth of adventure with you and Ron isn't something I can easily put behind me right away," She gave him a pointed look, "And I don't think you ever will, Harry."

"Maybe."

She knew him too damn well.

They talked amiably for about half an hour, until at last Hermione deemed that it was time to arrive two hours early to her interview.

"I'll see you whenever, then."

"Wait," She seemed to doubt herself for a moment, "Is it okay if I come over later – tonight, maybe?"

Harry looked at her, puzzled, "… It's a pub and an inn; I can't actually keep anyone from coming."

She slapped his arm, "Prat. You know what I mean."

Harry shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

She smiled, "Right, then," She hugged him tightly, which caught him by surprise, "Later. Tonight, then."

He blinked, "Right."

He watched her leave in a bit of a surprise.

"… Was that a Moment?" He asked out loud.

"That was like ten Moments all packed in a chocolate card, boy."

Harry turned towards the voice, and saw an old wizard and a young witch sitting at a table. The wizard had a bald head and a long beard, dressed in plain-looking black robes. The witch could have been put in the cover of a magazine, blonde and charming smile under bright blue eyes with near-perfect curves. The look probably cost her a hundred-and-fifty galleons two buildings over from Gringotts at the _Mirrors Love Us_ Spa & Rebirth.

"Yeah, I thought it was." Harry replied, still surprised.

The old wizard nodded, "At least she's decent enough to do it with a friend she's known for years, unlike my daughter here. Has been married three times now and the latest she met a month ago."

"Dad, please," The young with pleaded, and turned to Harry, "Love works however it wants to, I just know to seize every opportunity," She gave him a sultry look, "And you should take this one."

Harry blinked once, twice, and turned to exit the cauldron.

 _"Was that really it?"_

He stopped just by the door to Muggle London.

 _"Nah."_

* * *

Harry had started taking walks out of boredom months ago, and ended up bored during most walks despite his attempts otherwise.

 _"I think this is Brentford."_

It wasn't the first time Harry got lost in the Muggle world. By now he'd made a hobby out of it.

 _"I'm pretty sure I was walking **north**. Why am I Brentford?"_

Surely enough, he spotted a sign with what appeared to be a Football Club's coat, with some bees in it.

 _"Is this Orchard Road, or…"_

All the houses looked the same, really. It was actually a trend in the towns surrounding London, Muggles liked to line up their homes and make them look as alike as possible.

 _"I'll just find a quiet spot and apparate back to the Alley."_

The shades of gray up above were looking a little bit more like they did late in the afternoon.

 _"Could have enchanted my old glasses to tell me where I am. Dumbledore did it."_

He shook his head, _"Then again, Dumbledore's glasses had enough enchantments in them as to qualify as a piece of magical artillery."_

It wasn't quite time to meet with Hermione back at the Cauldron. He let himself laugh at that, it had been almost a full year since he thought about being on time for anything. He'd forgotten what that was like.

 _"Wonder what, exactly, is on her mind."_

It couldn't be as simple as the girl suddenly wanting to start _something_ with him. Hermione was much subtler than that, for one. And last he checked Ron wasn't dead.

" _Here's hoping they didn't break up,"_ He shook his head, _"Poor fellow would never find anyone else willing to put up with him."_

No, she likely had some sort of plan to break him, and apparently, _her_ , out of their post-adventure boredom.

 _"This looks calm enough."_

He was standing under an arch sign that read 'Watermans Park' and looking at the greenery around him he determined the sign to not be lying about the 'Park' part.

 _"Now to find myself some shade and-"_

 _"Feel…"_

He almost stumbled on nothing when he heard that voice.

 _"What was that?"_

 _"Hear…"_

He looked around, there was no one holding up a stereo, so his first theory was thrown off the broomstick. The next theory was that he had gone insane in his boredom, and now he would have to get used to hearing voices.

 _"Think…"_

 _"That's the problem, all this thinking."_

He tried to listen for a while longer, leaning against a tree in case he started to get dizzy or whatever other symptoms came with insanity. The voice didn't return.

What came next, he decided, felt much worse.

Suddenly, it was like every bad feeling, every sudden realization and every survival instinct he'd ever had in his life flared up at once in the same moment in the form of the sharpest feeling he'd ever had in the back of his neck, forcing him to turn around.

There, before him, stood a figure in black hooded robes with purple patterns, the robe seemed to have some form of armor of black around the shoulders and to the sides.

What caught his attention the most was the mask under the hood. It was red, and covered only half his face. What it did not cover was an extremely dark grin. Harry thought it was probably because that grin was far more unnerving than the rest of his getup.

 _"Black, hooded robes, wearing a red mask,"_ He would have cursed out loud if he didn't feel like that would distract him, _"When did I pull out my wand?"  
_

The figure regarded him silently, no movement betrayed any emotion, and Harry felt as if it was just the two of them standing upon a dead world, a pressure weighing down on him and threatening to crush him into the ground. He had only felt something like it once, years ago, tied down to a tombstone in a much grayer place.

" **You would do well to ignore her call, boy."**

That voice, Harry decided, was laced with the darkest intent he'd ever felt from anyone. It was obviously male, yet even more obviously, evil.

Harry had never thought anything could be entirely evil by itself, not even Voldemort - the world had never been that black and white, unfortunately. That notion had suddenly been disproved by a mere sentence.

" **But you are bereft of choice, are you not?"**

The figure walked closer, and Harry barely kept himself from taking a step back, he had to force himself to keep his wand pointed at the man.

"Who are you?"

 _"What are you?"_ He didn't voice.

"' **Tis always so for your kind. Your fate is not one I would force on mine own foes."**

Harry's response was a wordless blasting curse. He hit nothing but a tree several meters away, the figure having disappeared in a black mist. It was the years of fighting for his life that made Harry turn around in time to see the man in robes appear from the same darkness that had swallowed him.

" **And at the same time,"** His voice was laced with dark irony, **"It is that very fate that will place us as enemies."**

Harry was starting to get pretty angry, "Who are you?! What are you talking about?!" He finished each question with another curse, which the robed figure dodged by disappearing in the same haze of black as before.

The man didn't reappear after his last curse, and Harry slowly but surely felt the world's worth of weight that had been placed on his shoulders disappear. He fell on his rear, leaning his back against the tree, breathing heavily and sweating.

* * *

The sound and feeling of running water was all Harry could experience as he held his head under the shower head. He tried to let his worries be washed away into the drain, but the encounter back at the park refused to leave him.

He exited the shower and put on the same outfit he'd been wearing all day – already clean, pressed, and folded in his dresser. He still didn't know how that worked. He'd ask Tom whenever he didn't feel like death was breathing down his neck.

He was leaning against the window, watching his shoes trying, and failing, to unlock it and escape once more.

 _"Hear…"_

Harry ran a tired hand through his still-wet hair, "I hear you- I heard you the first time, alright?!"

 _"Feel… Learn…"_

He was starting to lose patience with the – female, he realized – voice, "Feel what? Learn what?!" He directed his words at the ceiling in his exasperation, for all he knew the voice could be coming from below, tot he sides, behind, anywhere.

 _"Hopefully not from my head."_

The voice did not answer. Harry didn't think himself lucky enough as to believe it had given up.

The sun was still nowhere near the horizon; it would still be a few hours before Hermione would show up, even if she decided to come early, as was her wont.

"Stop that, will you?" His sneakers gave up trying to escape, and let themselves flop down to the ground, seemingly defeated.

Harry just let them lay there and jumped onto his bed. Deciding to take a nap, he let his eyes close. The events of the day put him to sleep faster than he thought they would.

* * *

 _Place Unknown, Date unknown_

He stood on nothing.

No, that was right. Whatever he was standing on simply wasn't visible. Nothing else was, now that he tried to look around him.

 _"Where am I?"_

As if in answer to his thought, the world around him lit up in tones of blue, green and white. Wisps of mostly blue seemed to swirl everywhere, bright enough to light up what seemed to be a void, but still not hurting his eyes when he looked.

 _"I still don't know where I am."_

He seemed to be standing upon a circular platform of pure life. He could see bright lines forming a pattern of indiscernible purpose.

" _Hear ye, child."_

It was that voice again, this time clearer than ever before. He turned, and there was a shining mountain in front of him.

 _"Bloody hell."_

It was a floating mountain seemingly made of crystal, shaped like almost like a diamond yet completely irregular, more like a teardrop of solid, shining rock. A colossal one. Its glow washed over Harry for a few moments, and never before had he felt so much at peace with all things as he did then.

 _"I am Hydaelyn. All made one."_

And the gargantuan crystal was _speaking_.

 _"Hearken unto me, child of another, that I would make thee mine own."_

Harry's first thought was a flippant remark that he was not, in fact, up for adoption. He swallowed it down, this thing – Hydaelyn – appeared to have a different idea in mind.

"What do you- this, what does all of this mean?"

 _"Child of another, thou art needed."_

"Needed? For what?"

 _"Darkness falls upon the land, and mine children have long lost They who could deliver them from it."_

Harry hesitated upon those words. This- this person? Crystal? Being? Was asking for his help, whatever she thought he could give. That much was obvious, what was not obvious was why exactly, she had come to him.

 _"Mine light shine upon thee the brightest, child of another."_

That startled Harry, _"Don't read my mind, it's gross in there."_

 _"Thou art not without a choice. 'Tis merely a request for thine aid that I make."_

If this was a dream, Harry thought, it was by far the strangest one he'd ever had, _"It's also the most livid, even taking my old not-nightmares into account."  
_

He thought back to the day's events, the dark figure in the robes that visited him at the park in – Brentford, was it? Perhaps this is what he referred to. The fate that would make them enemies.

" _ **But you are bereft of choice, are you not? 'Tis always so for your kind."**_

His kind? The hero-complex-kind, maybe. Harry could never turn down an honest request for help, even when didn't know _how_ he could help.

So, in that way, he didn't really feel like he had a choice.

 _"... This is what I wanted, wasn't it? Something - anything meaningful to do. Another adventur,"_ His wanderlust was slowly going into overdrive.

"… You know my answer, then." His face was set to a resigned, but content smile as he looked up at the middle point of the gigantic crystal.

 _"Feel… Learn… See… Hear… Roam…"_

His surroundings were getting brighter with every word that came from the crystal.

 _"Walk into mine land with bright purpose in thy heart, and thou shall do all these and more, ever under the light of the Crystal."_

Everything got unbelievably bright, and this time Harry had to shield his eyes lest he go blind.

 _"Welcome, my child."_

* * *

 _Limsa Lominsa Lower Decks, 5_ _th_ _Sun of the 1_ _st_ _Umbral Moon, 4_ _th_ _Year of the Seventh Umbral Era._

 _"Was supposed to be an easy one. Buzz the bloak and get out, enforce the Code later tonight."_

A figure dressed in mostly green colors ran through the decks of the city as quickly as the market crowds allowed.

 _"Should've known the salt-less bastard would be a Yellow Jacket without 'is colors."_

Jacke, or as he was sometimes called, _Captain_ Jacke, was not having a good day so far. He'd taken up a job to steal back a purse taken from a fishwife by what appeared to be a pirate bereft of crew.

It seemed easy, and in a way, it was. He walked, _strutted_ , even, happy as he like into the Drowning Wench, spotted the burly – for a midlander – pissing away the ill-obtained coin in what passed for a good drink only in a pirate's tongue, and picked his pocket without the mark being none the wiser.

 _"Wasn't counting on 'is mates."_

The man had been under the watch of the Yellow Jackets, possibly looking out for him during his leave, likely caused by whatever gave the man a limp.

 _"Didn't keep 'im from biting that skin from the mort, didn't they?"_

He heard shouting, getting closer and closer each passing minute, and he cursed under his breath loudly enough to turn a few heads.

 _"Would as I'd waited a few bells and I could've brought the mob. Never work in the lightmans, I says to 'em. Shoot the moon, I repeat."_

He turned a corner, the glow of the Aetheryte in the plaza a few yalms away was noticeable from where he stood. He shook his head.

 _"Stray's never gonna let me catch the end of it."_

"Got you, thief!"

Jacke rolled just in time to avoid a flying great axe from severing him in half. It embedded itself deep into the stone he had been leaning against in his failed attempt to hide in the daylight.

He turned to where the axe came from and saw his mark, flanked by three Yellow Jackets, two big Roegadyns and another Hyur.

He spread his arms with a smile, "Can't say as I know what you mean, lads."

The Hyur in civilian clothes spat at the ground, "Don't try an' play us for muffs, thief."

Jacke's smile faded, _"Can't mill 'em here and now. Admiral would hang me from my shins 'til the era shifted."_

He took a few steps back, each one taking him closer to the Aetheryte in the middle of the plaza.

His pursuers reacted, "Don't let him escape!" Shouted the middle man.

Jacke hadn't thought of that, he wouldn't have the type to escape through the crystal, anyway.

 _"Not with the traps stepping on my soles."_

Still, he could attempt to make a run out of Limsa, assuming he made it through the plaza, and even more unlikely, _right under_ the admiral's lodgings, even more guarded than the Jacket's headquarters.

 _"Should've drank some dew before all of this."_

The men coming at him stopped before he could turn and make a run for his life.

"What in the seven hells is that?!"

Jacke almost scoffed at the oldest trick in the rogue's book, before he realized the men were stepping _away_ from him.

 _"No,"_ he thought as he turned around, _"From the crystal."_

The Aetheryte, large, beautiful and blue, set in the middle of the plaza and just a couple yalms from where he stood, started to _crack_.

 _"Impossible."_

Lines of white, brighter than the stone's natural glow, formed faster than he could follow them across the crystal's surface.

Jacke's eyes widened.

"Everyone, hit the deck!" He shouted at the plaza's crowd, the men chasing him included. Jacke barely had time to throw himself down to the ground and cover his head with his arms before the crystal _exploded_.

Even grounded as he was, the shockwave pushed him and made him roll along the ground, out of control and completely disoriented. The world was all white glow and wisps of blue. Jacke fought hard to remain conscious as he hit his back against a wall, and just barely managed it.

He blinked away black spots in his vision, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit as hard as the wall he found himself against did.

He stood up on confident legs – he still had his trusty sea legs, and he thanked the Twelve for that – and looked around the plaza.

 _"What a queer sight."_

Indeed, never before had he seen the plaza devoid of its crystal – stranger still, it was completely devoid of _any_ crystal, no fragments could be seen embedded on anything or anyone. The Lominsans were trying to pick themselves up, and he couldn't see his would-be captors anywhere in the crowd.

 _"Peelers likely blown away off the plaza, and down to the pond."_

It was likely the fate of many, but he decided to count his blessings for what they were.

 _"Best to hook it while I can."_

Something in the middle of the plaza caught his sight.

 _"Never seen that before."_

And by that, he referred to the strange clothes worn by the unconscious midlander lying on the ground where the Aetheryte previously stood.

 _"Ul'dahn, maybe?"_ He shook his head, there were more important questions to ask. Where did this one come from? Why was he not blown away? Was he teleporting into Limsa through the Crystal as it exploded?

 _"Did this bloak star the spark?"_

He was curious, and he wasn't known for leaving his curiosity lying in the middle of plazas.

He picked up the Hyur, a young man, from what he glimpsed. Lighter than he looked, only slightly shorter than Jacke himself was.

 _"To the Sisters or the Wench?"_

He had two choices, he could drop off the man at the inn and say his drunken mate didn't even remember where he lived before he passed out, so he'd cover his stay at the Drowning Wench. Then he could just skulk and follow the man when he woke up, it was the easiest way to learn who he was. Or he could take him to the guild headquarters, and learn everything first hand. Assuming he was willing to spill anything, that is. No point getting rough with someone who was not yet proven to have broken the Code.

 _"Only coin I have on me is what I bit back from the mark."_

And it definitely wasn't his to use, he decided. He shook the man over his shoulder, and failed to hear any jingle of coins.

He then heard shouting coming from several directions as people came into the plaza to inspect the damage. And made his decision.

 _"To the Sisters it is."_

* * *

A/N: Seems about long enough for a start, I think. Just a little under six thousand words.

I was frankly tempted to post some twenty thousand words worth of story at first. But as this is quite a new experiment, even if it's one I feel fairly confident about, I decided to start small, gauge the reaction, and build up from there. You might spot a few mistakes as a result of this - I didn't want to compromise too much. We'll see how it all goes from here on out.

Leave a review if you like the idea and want to see some more.

'Til next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Better Than Exploding Snap, Actually**

He could not remember the last time he'd awakened to a quiet room. Or to a different room, for that matter. It was always the easy-to-ignore noise of the locomotive going who-knows-where in the background of the loudest set of teeth ever attached to gums.

It was a remarkably refreshing experience, Harry figured, to wake up on top of some crates – without a headache, at least.

He sat up and looked around. Light came from what appeared to be a couple of gas lamps placed on a table in the middle. The room looked to be a warehouse of some sort. Lots of wooden crates piled in the corners and barrels surrounding the same piles. Nets – for fishing, maybe? – were used to further hold up more crates of variable sizes as out-of-the-way as possible. Ropes, oh there were _ropes_. Everywhere, on top of at least half the containers, lengths of rope of different size. It was a very quaint, in a medieval way, storeroom, he allowed himself to think.

It was also very, very dusty.

He stood up on firm legs, further proving he was not, in fact, drugged, hung-over or otherwise bewitched.

" _At least not anymore."_

He leant against the crate he'd been lying on top of and decided to take stock of his current situation.

His wand was not in his pocket – he reached for it the second he saw the unfamiliar ceiling. His clothes weren't damaged and he didn't feel any pain, burning or stinging anywhere in his body, so he probably hadn't been in a fight.

His shoes were missing. Either hiding or Killed-In-Action.

" _What did I do yesterday?"_

He remembered waking up to a boring day in his loud-but-boring room in the magical-but-boring Leaky Cauldron. He ate his usual bowl of Cauldron O's, patent coming as soon as someone other than him didn't throw up when chewing on it, and-

" _Hermione."_

They had a talk. Just her grown-up business in her post-war world.

" _I'm thinking in a lot of hyphens,"_ Came the straight thought, _"I used to hate those."_

It wasn't a boring talk, really. Hermione was many things, overbearing, addicted to books, eager-to-follow among other things, but boring was not one of them.

"… _Oh, well, shit."_

He had promised to meet with her that very night at the cauldron after her day was over. In fact, he distinctly remembered planning his day around being back in time for that. He'd gone out for a walk, confused north with west and ended up in a-

" _That guy."_

That man in the dark outfit with the even darker voice. Just remembering it made him tense up.

" _Did he kidnap me?"_

No, the guy left after delivering cryptic- _"Cryptic what, warnings?"_ and then Harry apparated back to the Cauldron, where he took a shower.

He remembered taking that shower, scolding his shoes and then-

" _Bloody hell."_

He had a dream. The strangest dream of them all. It was all blues and greens and whites and crystal. And the voice. He'd been hearing that soft voice throughout the day. Asking him to- asking him to _hear_ , to _feel_. He had no idea what it referred to, but now that he remembered the sound of the voice, his memory of the dream came back.

" _I… agreed to help it- her, didn't I?"_

He had. And whatever that apparently non-dream had actually been, it likely resulted in his current situation.

He took a deep breath, then two.

" _I'm calmer than I should be."_

He took in the room around him once more, this time walking up to several crates and barrels. Some of them had what appeared to be a coat of arms with a longship in it. What looked like a dragon's head adorned the stempost, and six great oars were placed through the length of it.

Some of the crates had variations of the same coat with four or five oars, some of them had what looked to be a lighthouse coming from on top of the ship. But the most interesting part was the inscription that ran along the length of the boat.

"' _Till Sea Swallows All. Maelstrom Command."_

It wasn't the words themselves that caught his attention, but the characters being used to form them.

" _How the hell am I reading this?"_

He shook his head in amazement, not realizing he was laughing softly at the same time.

" _Now I've really done it-"_

"Aye, Jacke's brought 'imself one missin' 'is rudder!"

Harry turned abruptly at the voice, right hand reaching for his pocket, but there was no wand to be found there. There was no person to be found, either.

"… _Who said-?"_

"An' a blind one to boot!"

This time, he looked down. There, standing before him, stood what appeared to be a child. On second look, he realized it was really just a very, very small person. Rotund, but not fat-looking, short arms, short legs, all these were characteristics he would normally associate with children. But it was the eyes and the ears that betrayed the fact that this was not, in fact, a human being. The eyes were round and large, of a light shade of yellow he couldn't quite name, with silver hair covered by a green bandanna. The ears were also larger than a human's, pointed to the sides and moving ever so slightly with apparent mirth. The eyes and the ears of this person – it was probably rude to call it otherwise – were likely very expressive, if what he'd seen so far was any indication.

It was dressed in all green and white. Green were the pants, the shoes and the bandanna; white was what appeared to be a crop top –with only one shoulder. The part that the top didn't cover revealed a tattoo that cover, and ran from, the front, along the side, all the way to the back.

" _Not ugly, really, so not a gnome. Not terrifying enough to be a goblin, not hairy enough to be a dwarf, and definitely not crazy enough to be a house elf."_

"Ye listenin' to a whid am sayin'?!" The little person waved his – likely male, he figured – little arms up and down, his whole body almost following in their movement.

Harry would probably find it adorable, sailor's tongue and all, if he wasn't so confused.

"I- er," He cleared his throat "Yes, I hear you just fine."

"Ha!" The small bloke bellowed, eyes mirroring the winning grin on his face, "Told Bochard as you didn't appear Lominsan! Ye earned me ten Gil, lad."

"… What?" Harry's head was rapidly approaching 'spinning' status.

The short fellow – Harry made a note to ask for a name, he was running out of synonyms – shook his head, "Ye got yerself a nasty bump to the 'ead, I wager. Captain brought ye in over 'is shoulders like a sack o' greens – and droppin' ye the same can't 'ave 'helped it much!" His voice had a humorous tone the entire time.

Harry didn't exactly feel like he'd taken any hit to the head, however - and that was a pain with which he was, unfortunately, very familiar. The confusion was all the same, though.

Harry gave a polite smile, "It was probably that, yeah."

"Captain ain't known for bein' nice to lads. All about the fancy molls, he is." His mirth had settled, and he looked Harry up and down, "Yer not a lass, are ya? Ye seem as flat as me stabbers but then I've seen some Miqo'te-"

"Flat's what yer noggin's gonna be if ye don't shut yer trap!"

Harry and the tiny dude – _"I'm all out"_ – both flinched, the former with surprise, and the latter a mixture of the same _plus_ dread.

They both turned towards the door, which had been opened and nearly-closed _again_ without Harry's notice.

" _How do they keep doing-?"_

His brain stopped.

Tail.

Ears.

 _Tail._

 _Ears._

He blinked once, twice, three times and a fourth for good measure. The person – woman, yes, female, obviously, _"Maybe? Hopefully?"_ – Standing before him was by no means something anyone should ever dread gazing upon. And that wasn't just his bias towards women with at least somewhat-unusual hair colors speaking for him.

She stood a few inches shorter than he did, with tan skin and purple eyes with a vertical slit to them. Feline eyes, he added. Her hair was a red, perhaps close to chestnut, color that he really, really wished more women would have.

Harry vowed to learn more color names – his vocabulary had something like three dozen colors and even then he couldn't tell them apart very well.

Later on, when he dared to look long enough to try to get her proportions, he'd realized that while they weren't exactly _generous_ , they fit her frame better than any other amount of mass ever would. All in all, it made her look better, he thought.

He noted she was wearing the same garments, except in different size, as the wee being – _"Really?"_ – Which probably meant that they either shopped at the same store or that it was some sort of uniform. Seeing that they had the same tattoo, however, more than solidified the second idea.

"Ye were told to tell when he woke up, Underfoot." The woman said with a raised eyebrow.

The newly-christened Underfoot, no longer frightened – if he ever was, gave her a shrug, "Didn't 'ave the time to go fetch anyone," He turned to Harry, "Cove ain't sayin' much as is worth hearin' anyroad.

He didn't bother to try and feel insulted with that, no matter how much Harry prided himself on saying 'things worth hearing' for at least the past year – he didn't fool himself about how utterly _dull_ he could be during his Hogwarts years – today, at least as far as today had gone since he woke up on a crate, he had apparently left his wit in one of his shoes.

"Don't suppose either of you have seen my shoes?"

They both looked at him, the girl at her feet and Underfoot at his face, heads tilted in curiosity.

"Can't say as I 'ave, lad. Ye were brought 'ere with only yer socks and yer queer clothes." Answered Underfoot.

Harry rather liked that name, now that he knew about it. He didn't think any race as short as whatever this guy was would take a name like that without stabbing someone; and at that height, well, you don't make fun of someone positioned so perfectly to ruin a man's day.

" _I should have asked about my wand first."_ He scolded himself.

"So," Harry started, "I'm- that is, my name's Harry." He could do without a last name for now. In the off-chance that anyone could recognize his name wherever he was; he sure as hell wasn't going to take any risks.

Underfoot offered a smile, "Nice to meet ya, lad. I'm Perimu Haurimu, but as it's too long, all me mates call me Underfoot."

The woman, with a hand on her hip, followed, "Name's V'kebbe. The Stray by handle, is what the lads and lasses 'round the Sisters call me."

Not a bad start at all, Harry figured, the day might not go as bad as he thought, "So was I kidnapped for a ransom, revenge or…?" His mouth disagreed, apparently.

" _Oh goddammit."_

The pair in green shared a look, and promptly burst out laughing.

"Lad," Perimu Haurimu began, "There's but three sorts o' cull what we'll let here into the Sisters – that's clients, recruits, and marks as we'll let tail us to see if they're dumb enough to come in." He finished with a grin that was more than a little blood-thirsty.

"An' as ye don't sound or look like a client," V'kebbe continued, smiling all the while, "An' ye woke up with nary a stabber in yer gut, so yer not a mark as we have to hide, I'll say."

"Like as not, Captain's seen somethin' he likes," Underfoot took over, "So he's gonna try an' make use of it."

Harry only had one thing to say to all of that.

"I have many, many questions."

"Aye, ye look as if ye haven't the foggiest where the bittacle is. Or the ship, for that matter." The accent and the slang was starting to grow on him, and Harry feared he'd pick it up and never be able to drop it afterwards.

"Let's sit down if we're gonna mump, then." Said the woman

They both turned towards the door, and gestured at Harry to follow.

Harry took a deep breath, "Right."

* * *

They sat around a round table, in a room not all too different from the storage in which he had woken up, except with more chairs and less containers.

An old man with a mask wearing a different-but-also-green uniform brought several tankards filled with rich-smelling ale to the table. He talked to Underfoot in hushed tones for a moment before handing him a few coins, grumbling all the while about how he was not a bar wench.

"Bochard ain't gonna take that one lying, ye know?" V'kebbe spoke after the man left.

"Let 'im try, I know where he spends 'is brass what he thinks no one knows about when not at the Wench." Underfoot answered.

He turned towards Harry, "Figure ye've 'ad enough o' not knowing yer heading by now, lad, 'ave a drink and ask away."

Harry decided that the ale could wait, "Where am I?"

"This is the convent o' the 'Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss'" He answered, and now Harry had a lot more questions, "Ye don't seem to 'ave as much green in yer eyes as to not 'ave realized it ain't much of a convent." The red-headed woman didn't try to hide her snickers at that. Harry took a sip of ale to hide his own.

"Would've joined a convent by now if their ale was this good." And it was – none of the brews he'd tasted in Knockturn Alley were anywhere near this flavorful.

"Aye, only place in La Noscea yer like to find bad grog is on a ship lost at sea." The woman was already halfway through her tankard and loving every moment of it, apparently.

"Where'd ye hail from, lad?" Underfoot asked.

Harry thought about the answer to that question, and figured he might as well keep it as honest as possible if he wanted honest answers.

"Pretty far, I think," He began, "Never heard of La Noscea, for once."

His table-mates shared a look at that, a mixture of incredulity and suspicion.

"Figured as ye weren't from Limsa, aye." The shorter of the two stated.

"I'd pegged ye as either Gridanian or Ishgardian, meself. Too pale for anywhere in Thanalan, ye are." Said the Stray.

"Never heard of those, either." This ale was really, really good.

They shared another look, and Harry wondered if there were two conversations going on at this table. That was a bit rude.

"'ow'd Jacke find 'imself someone not from Eorzea?" V'kebbe asked.

" _I don't know what that is."_ He didn't voice that one; there was only so much ignorance he was willing to admit to right away.

"Who's Jacke?" He asked instead.

V'kebbe answered that one, "Jacke's the guild leader, so to speak. We call 'im Captain Jacke, so as he won't forget 'is job."

Underfoot continue, "An' _because_ he's the captain – he leads us rogues, he does."

"And he brought me here, then?"

"That he did, at that. He's gone an' done a runner to finish a job." Perimu Haurimu turned to V'kebbe, "An' I thought ye'd keep 'im long enough salt 'is ear 'oles."

"Would've, aye," She said, "'Cept he 'as a job to finish an' he's keen on doin' it in the lightmans."

Underfoot continued in a humorous tone, "Ah, like as not the client's a moll as caught 'is eye."

She shrugged, "'eard it was a fishwife, so he shouldn't be long at the docks."

"The code doesn't say a thing about a woman what's spliced." His eyes took on a thoughtful look, "D'ye reckon it counts as if he's tryin' to steal from a Lominsan?"

The redhead got a feral look at that, "Been a while since he's been hung by the shins, is what I think."

Funny as the scene had been so far, Harry's tankard was almost drained and he still had an awful lot more questions to ask.

"So," He got their attention, "We don't have your kind where I'm from," He shook his head, "Sorry if it seems rude, but, what are you?"

"What are we as in what we do, or what we's like?" Asked the Stray.

" _Don't say 'yes'."_

"Both, actually."

"Yer pullin' me tail." She said.

"Not at all. Everyone, well…" He shrugged, "Everyone looked like me, I guess. Except for the goblins. And giants. We had a few others, but it was mostly people like me, and none like you both."

"Mostly Hyurs, then. Interesting." He shrugged, "Guess the goblins are everywhere, then." Underfoot smiled, "Anyroad, I'm a Lalafell, shorter than any o' the other races yer like to meet. An' the red covess 'ere's a Miqo'te.

"Call me a cat gal an' yer gonna spend a while finding yer teeth, aye?" There wasn't a real threat there, but Harry nodded nonetheless.

"Ye see a big burly guy walkin' 'round 'ere with gray-like skin an' an eyepatch, he's a Roegadyn, an' you should tell 'im to stop lazing about and get back to 'is post outside."

"I see," Harry nodded, "Anything else?" He was probably going to be asking these things again later – it was a lot to take in.

The Lalafell scratched his head, "Well, if ye see a tall an' lean fellow with ears much like mine, that's an Elezen."

"We come in a couple o' flavors, too. But for now, that oughta' be enough." Finished the Miqo'te.

Harry thought that through, _"Miqo'te, cat-like. Lalafell, short. Elezen, tall with pointy ears. Roe… Roegadyn? Big and tough, with odd skin. I guess I'm a Hyur?"_

"Think I've got it, thanks."

"Ain't nothin' to thank, lad. Ye might just be in a world o' trouble."

" _Everyone's good at sneaking around here_."

They all turned towards the new voice, and Harry was glad to see a human – a Hyur, by the name he heard, approaching with confident steps and a smile to match. He wore similar attire to his drinking partners, but the top was replaced by a long-sleeved jacket – which he wore open to show off a pair of arrow-shaped necklaces.

The closer the man got to the table, the more his eyes stood out. It wasn't their color – blue eyes were common enough in the places Harry had been to before. No, what caught his attention was how utterly _sharp_ they were.

Harry knew dangerous people when he saw them, and he hadn't fooled himself by thinking the two people he had met so far were harmless. No, they were very capable of killing him – especially without his wand. But this man, unlike the other two, was probably incapable of hiding just how dangerous he could be, no matter how relaxed his expression was. Those eyes simply saw too much, far more than anyone would want them to.

He tried not to tense, and the man's smile widened by a fraction.

" _Far too much."_

"Oi, yer not meant to booze up prisoners." The new arrival said as he pulled up a chair and took the Lalafell's ale tankard.

"Hey!"

"Fetch us some more ale, Underfoot. Stray, find me deck, it's under my bunk." He ordered, and Harry surmised this was probably the one they called Captain Jacke.

The woman tilted her head, "… Prisoner?"

Underfoot seemed to be just as puzzled, "We don't take prisoners, do we?"

Jacke guzzled some ale for a moment before barking, "Running dry 'ere!"

The other two sighed and left, muttering about idiot captains and cards.

When they were gone, the man leaned back in his chair propped his feet up on the table, nursing his tankard while staring at Harry with a thoughtful look.

"… What?" Harry blurted.

The man smiled, "Name's Jacke," He started, "I'm the, well, the guild master, ye could say. Which means I'm the one as runs this band of raggedy sailors what could never really stop skulking about," He took a sip, "Some o' 'em call me Captain, haven't stopped 'em 'cause I like it."

Harry nodded, "Right, er, I'm Harry."

"Just Harry?"

Harry couldn't help the smile that came to his face, "Yes, just Harry."

Jacke seemed to consider his words for a moment longer, "Nice to meet ye, Harry," He let out a small sigh, "Or so I'd like to say, honestly. But things are a right mess up in the decks, and yer the most likely culprit."

Harry frowned, "A mess?"

"Aye, yer arrival was as subtle as a Morbol sneeze and nearly as devastatin'"

Harry put down his empty mug and held up his hands, "I told the other two earlier, I have no idea where I am, or how I got here."

Jacke raised an eyebrow, "Ye mean to say ye turned the Aetheryte into dust without meanin' to?"

"The what?" Harry was getting tired of not knowing anything.

"The Aetheryte," Jacke's other eyebrow joined the first in wonder, "Big crystal, glows some, spins more?"

"… Does it talk?"

"Not as I know, no."

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

Jacke sat up straight and focused his eyes on his face. Harry felt as if the man could count the hairs on the back of his head.

"Aye," Jacke sucked his teeth, "Yer not lyin', lad."

Harry didn't realize his shoulders had been so tense.

"Where'd ye hail from, then?"

"Not from Eorzea, I know that much."

"Ye don't look Doman. Garlemald?"

"I don't know what those are."

"Where in Hydaelyn did ye come from, then?"

Harry considered, and answered, "I know a Hydaelyn, I think."

"Aye, you oughta' know the world ye live in, no?"

" _I don't know Hydaelyn as a world, however."_

"… But I'm not from Hydaelyn."

Whatever Jacke wanted to say with his befuddled look was cut off by the arrival of the only other people he'd met so far.

"Brought ye yer ale an' cards, Captain."

Jacke nodded at them and watched as they sat down. Then he reached for a bundle of cloth that harry assumed contained a deck of playing cards.

"Seein' as yer not from 'round 'ere," Jacke unwrapped the cloth, and spread the cloth itself on the table, "Don't suppose ye know how to play Triple Triad?" It wasn't really a question.

Harry answered anyway, "Not a clue."

"Bene," Was that Italian? "It's not so hard as ye can't learn it on the go," he gestured at the cloth, and Harry noticed that it had a three-by-three grid on it, "There's yer board. This one's not as clean as yer like to find elsewhere, but it works."

He threw Harry a card from the deck, and it was only years of practice as a Seeker that let him snatch it out of the air in time.

"Cards 'ave four numbers, we call 'em ranks, an' they're mostly what tells ye if yer card can beat another. Place that one anywhere on the board."

Harry look at it before doing so, it looked kind of like a Dodo bird would, except perhaps puffier, and it had the numbers Four-Two-Three-Four, going clockwise, on the bottom, as well as a golden star on the top left corner.

He placed it in the middle of the grid, and the card's gray background turned blue.

" _Magic?"_ He dared to hope.

"Bene, that makes ye the blue player," He picked up a card from the deck, "Now watch."

He placed another card to the right of it, one with what appeared to be a deep black bunny-like creature holding a rock. Clockwise, the 'ranks' on it were Two-Three-Four-Four, so one of the fours was left facing the Dodo's two.

The background of the card Jacke placed turned red, and then the blue background of the one Harry had placed turned red as well.

"Simple as that, eh? Goal's to turn as many cards on the board to yer color. Once yer out o' room, the game ends, whoever's turned the most cards wins, and earns some more gil to drink away before the next round."

Harry nodded; it seemed simple enough, however…

"Why are you teaching me this?"

Jacke shrugged, "Might as well play a few hands while we wag our tongues, no? Oh!" He took the cards and shuffled them, "This 'ere's a deck we keep 'round the Sisters to play whenever we're bored, but general rule's as everyone keeps their own cards to use, no two decks are the same."

"Wouldn't that be a bit unbalanced?" Harry could taste the irony of saying that after playing a sport where the Golden Snitch was a thing.

" _Bloody love it, though."_

"Ha! Yer already sayin' that an' ye 'aven't even played a single round. But aye, there's collectors with cards so strong yer better off fighting the critter what shows in it than tryin' to win a game against 'em. That said…" He gave Harry five cards. "This deck's filled with little critters, so it all balances out."

"How do you decide who goes first?" He asked.

"Boards what ye can get almost anywhere usually come with red an' blue cards. Ye shuffle those, draw three cards, an' whichever color ye got two of gets to go first," He pulled out a golden coin, "Drew that board meself a while back, so 'ere at the Sisters we just flip a coin," He did just that, caught it with his right hand and put it on the back of his left one, still covering, "So, ye keen?"

Harry looked at the hand he was dealt, _"Eh, what the hell."_

He wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.

* * *

"Magic doesn't exist as far as most people are concerned in my world."

"Aye? How's that work?" Asked Jacke.

"Those of us that can do magic have been in hiding for centuries – it's against the laws to reveal ourselves in any manner."

"Why in the seven hells would ye do that?" Asked Underfoot.

Harry thought about that one, "I'm not really sure, actually," He shrugged, "Most likely fear. People are usually afraid of what they don't know or understand."

"Aye, I get that. Fear o' what's in the darkmans makes some culls uneasy. Ye won't find much as don't know about magic, though. Everyone in Eorzea can do it."

" _Everyone?"_

"Really?"

"Aye, 'cept for maybe a few what aren't born with either the aether or the taste for it, everyone learns a spell or two."

" _Now_ _ **that**_ _, is amazing."_ The prospect of being able to do whatever he wanted with magic anywhere he could filled him with excitement, something this world had been doing very often, he noted.

" _Now if only I had my wand."_

"Seems like a waste," said the Stray, "Ye'd be makin' some pretty good coin with what only magic can do."

"… I never thought of it that way."

Jacke snorted, "Leave it to one of me rogues to worry about the coin! Yer givin' the lad a bad impression o' us all."

V'kebbe just smiled, "An' what's wrong with that? Can't 'ave 'im thinkin' we're all good people 'ere."

And there was the in that Harry had been waiting for.

"Speaking of," He began, "What is it that you guys do, exactly?"

"Took ye long enough," Jacke played a card, turning one of Harry's, "We rogues, as we call ourselves, enforce a short but strict code in Limsa Lominsa.

"Limsa's a fine city founded an' populated mostly by old seadogs an' pirates former an' current. If yer wonderin' 'ow aught ever got done with that lot, the answer's nothin' at all. Nay, everyone soon realized we needed to lay down a few rules lest eyepatches became the norm, an' so we ended up with an unwritten an' mostly-unspoken Code of conduct, as it were."

Harry played another card, turning two of Jacke's over – Triple Triad was actually a pretty good game as far as anything off a broom went.

Jacke didn't seem to care, "There's three rules everyone what knows of the Code agrees to: One, ye don't bite the purses o' yer fellow Lominsans; two, ye don't rook a crew out o' their spoils; an' three, ye don't trade culls like they was chattel." Jacke picked up the cards and shuffled them again, this round was Harry's, "There're more murky details to it, but they're mostly extensions o' those three."

He dealt the cards again, "We at the Rogue's Guild move about in the darkmans, where culls can't find their way, and enforce the code, all for the sake o' Limsa Lominsa.

"We're not a secret guild in any sense – anyone as cares to squint at the shadows can find us; an' the Admiral, to whom we owe our capacity to work, knows she can count on us to keep the pirates an' other thieves in check."

Harry had never known anywhere that allowed vigilantism in such a scale, but he couldn't deny that the idea of it filled him with excitement for this new world.

"The Admiral?"

"Aye, Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn."

Harry blinked at the name, _"Admiral, then."_

Everyone at the table cracked up at his expression, "Ha! It's not even the biggest mouthful yer gonna get as far as names come, lad. There's some real lunkers out there, best get used to it 'fore you tick someone off." Said Underfoot.

"Many 'o us wouldn't 'ave a place without the Guild, an' the Guild wouldn't 'ave a place without the Admiral." V'kebbe stated with a smile.

"Aye, we steer clear of the Yellowjackets an' the Maelstrom Command, leave 'em to watch Limsa in the lightmans, an' we look after 'er in the darkmans. Admiral might 'ave outlawed piracy, but 'er grip's not as strong in the back alleys an' black markets."

"Speakin' o' which," They all turned towards the Stray, "Whid's the tussle ye got in earlier involved the Jackets."

Harry saw Jacke's face take on a grim tone, "Aye, nasty work, that one. I 'eard from the mornin' boats as a jomer 'ad 'er skin nicked from 'er not long after 'er husband took to sea." He played a card and took a sip from his ale before continuing, "Normally I don't condone workin' in the lightmans, but that cull was like to piss away the coin before the day was done. So I tracked 'im down to the Wench an' sure enough, he's halfway through the pissin' I predicted.

"Bitin' back the skin was easy, but the man 'ad his mates 'round 'im in case aught was amiss."

"An' I'm guessin' they were Yellowjackets." Said Underfoot, his face scrunched up in thought.

"Aye, as they were. An' so was the cull – an' a handy one with an axe, too."

"What's a Yellowjacket buggerin' about in the docks for? They're as out of the way as it gets in Limsa." Asked the Stray.

"Aye, I couldn't see it before, rushed as I was, but now I'm sure they meant to lure out a rogue."

Underfoot nodded slowly, "That's what I think, too."

Harry figured he might as well add his two cents – _"Or is it Gil?"_ – to the conversation, "Someone high enough to know about you that doesn't agree with the way you do things, then?"

Jacke thought about it, and shook his head, "Doesn't narrow it down much, no. Plenty o' culls what hate us around the decks, an' knowing about us ain't a matter of rank, either."

He looked at his fellow rogues, "For now, just spread the whid an' make sure no one turns their backs on the Jackets."

The other two nodded, and it suddenly struck Harry that he had no idea what he was going to do after they were done with their talk-slash-game.

"Don't suppose any of you know where I could find a pair of shoes?"

The serious looks on the rogues' faces slipped away into grins, and Jacke answered, "Lad, ye could be wearin' the best boots the market could offer an' ye'd still stand out like a 'ole in a sail. Best fetch ye a whole outfit," He leant back,, arms crossed with a thoughtful look, "Since I _did_ drag ye into a rogue's den out o' curiosity, it'd be remiss o' me to kick ye out into the decks as ye are, no?"

"Actually, did you see if I had a wooden stick with me? That is- my wand, did I have a wand with me when you found me?"

Jacke shook his head, "No wand that I could see. Just you in the middle of the plaza." He turned towards V'kebbe, "We'll have to fetch lad some duds from the larder what no one's claimed, if ye find a stabber what's not all that dull, bring it too."

Harry had to stop himself from saying it was too much, but the notion of stepping out into what was described to him as a dock on his socks, 'queer' clothes and without a wand wasn't all that appealing to him.

"I'll be in your debt, truly, thanks."

Jacke waved him off, "Yer not the first cove to come into the Sisters with nothin' to 'is name. 'Course, those usually stay as recruits," He looked him over, "Ye got the eyes an' fingers for it, aye. But I won't ask ye to join, that's all up to the prospects."

That was an invitation, Harry could tell, even the way he worded it. Harry's first reaction was to say no outright, he had, after all, left everything including his girlfriend behind for a sliver of freedom, so joining some organization of people he'd just met felt a bit like betraying that purpose.

Logically, however, he knew nothing about this world, and he had been lucky enough to be found by someone who seemed willing to lend a hand. If he took up the offer, he'd have a place to stay, possible friends to count on, and most importantly, a chance to stand on his own two feet before whatever his purpose on this world was became clear.

He hadn't forgotten his promise, the deal that had landed him on Hydaelyn in the first place. He still didn't know why he was wanted here, or what he was meant to do about it.

"Is it a permanent kind of deal?"

Jacke smiled, the man did that a lot, he noted, they all did, in fact, "Not at all, lad. Yer free to go where the wind blows so long as ye stick to the Code an' don't forget about yer mates."

That sealed it then. Worst-case scenario, he'd pick up the accent and never be rid of it. Harry gave a nod, "Sounds good, sign me up."

Underfoot clapped, V'kebbe raised her mug, and Jacke's smile showed teeth at last, "Bene. Alright mates! Make that two stabbers an' a lot more ale! Call Lonny an' Bochard an' whoever doesn't need to throw a knife today.

"We're celebratin'!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, the rogues so far seemed like a family, and for all they claimed their job was of the dirty kind, they still had light hearts and easy smiles.

And no matter what else the future – and the world – had prepared for him, Harry hoped he could be like that his entire life.

* * *

A/N: We're stopping there for now.

Rogue? Out of a wizard? Yes, I know. I came into this vowing that Harry wouldn't simply end up an arcanist or a thaumaturge, no matter how well his skill set would appear to translate to those classes, I simply couldn't handle the cliché, and writing the rogues has been a joy no matter how difficult their accents and slang are to even write.

So yes, the rogues are going to be recurrent characters, for which I will include a glossary of slang in the next chapter, which so far is shaping up to be even heavier slang-wise.

On another note, I'd failed to notice that there was not a single Harry Potter/FFXIV crossover on this site. Nary one to be seen. I'm actually surprised the first chapter got any reviews at all.

Thanks for reading, leave a review if you like.

See you next chapter.


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